Erase
by L'Arc en Coeur
Summary: The nations face their greatest adversary, one that is beyond the scope of their powers. Instead of fighting amongst each other as they have always done, they come together, united by misfortune, to celebrate their long-standing relationships.


_AN: Another angstfest that I created. OTL. I don't know history, so let's crack at a new perspective? This one's hastily written. The others will be nicer. I'll probably make another FrUK one in this series, so enjoy it for now and expect more later?_

**Erase—The Lover and His Enemy**

_Fourteen Days…_

His blue eyes trailed the skyline, scanning for some anomaly in the heavens that night. The stars pierced the satin emptiness; a somewhat comforting feeling overwhelmed him as he soon realized that there were and always would be other things in the Universe that kept his precious Earth company. His plane of sight sank lower as he absorbed the fading warmth of a late setting sun.

The night was cold, but he stood on the high, grassy cliff wearing little else than a dress shirt, slacks, and trench coat. But he knew well that what was to come would be far more chilling than that fall night. He smiled as he observed the seemingly sleepy city that rest a little farther off from his cliff. That same smile evaporated only moments later.

He chocked—a knot in his throat that hurt as he tried to swallow a piece of reality too big for his bite. His favorite little city…

"I thought you'd be here," the man's thoughts were interrupted by an acquaintance's voice.

He turned and laid eyes on another man of slightly smaller build, but equal height. He had the most enchanting eyes of a rich emerald green—at least that was what the coated man thought. Even with his overpowering eyebrows, this companion offered the most comforting smile, one that assured the receiver that everything would be okay, one that was truly of the few beautiful things the world had to offer. Today, he came smiling.

"I was looking for you," he continued. "I felt something amiss in the atmosphere and then I realized that I couldn't sense you anymore. You left your post again despite the consensus of the others."

"Shouldn't you be elsewhere, England?" the cloaked man turned and greeted his fellow country with a despondent smile.

"I should be watching my country, but it doesn't seem like you're doing that either, isn't it so, France?" he still had wit…even in these grave circumstances.

"I thought that I'd check out one of the most beautiful places on Earth," France chuckled, but his laugh was deeply tinged with his apprehension.

Yes, the active city of Paris from the cliffs where France and England stood seemed almost inactive, suspended in a sleepy haze of surrealism. It something France had never seen before. He remembered fondly the beauty of _his _city.

"Watch," he whispered as if his voice would stir the distant masses or break the delicate balance of silence in nature.

England had not spoken since his last statement, but he obliged without retort for the first time in many years. His eyes, trailing the path France had drawn across the distance, laid eyes on a protruding figure that pierced the horizon.

"Un, deux, trois," he said with his naturally seductive French.

And at the end of his last word, the skyline lit up and pushed the dark blanket from the once concealed Eiffel Tower in a sudden burst of visual activity. It stood erect, acutely contrasting every other structure in the vicinity. It was the prize of Paris. It was the pride of France. It was _his_ pride also. The blue-eyed man felt his chest swell with appreciation for one of the world's most breathtaking structures.

"To think…everyone out there," he pointed at the city's lights, "will continue with their lives not knowing any better. You and me…and everyone else…every nation, we know what is about to pass. But…we can't let any of our people know. They will just sit and wait and watch as it approaches, not knowing what to do or what to say. Perhaps it is better that they do not know. Why bring such panic to people early? All they will do is riot and protest in vain, maybe even cause a war in desperation. That's what people do when they're scared: they fight. But because we kept this secret, nothing will come until the last minute. Even then…hiding the inevitable seems like a disservice."

England looked at his fellow nation. His eyes showed signs of soul being sucked from him day by day.

But the younger nation held a smile as his eyes prodded the other, "Humans aren't the only ones that fight, France."

The older nation chuckled, but it gave way to the serenity.

"We did it for a reason, France," England intruded to ease tensions. "As much as I know it hurts, we cannot let our little secret be known."

"I don't know how we can simply watch as our people…_our_ people…"

He tried to start, but England's finger was always prompt and silenced the neighboring nation effectively.

"Yes, I know, but think of how much more damage would be done if we told," he pulled his finger away and looked back at Paris.

The cars moved down the roads quickly. In France, in the world, it was a normal day. Everything continued to the regular pulse life and it would continue since nothing was evidently wrong. Yes, the people were naïve and uninformed to the best of the nation's abilities. People would never know.

Through the low buzzing of activity that lay on the lower plane of the cliff there were stifled sobs. France, not knowing where they were originating from, looked behind him, but England's hand seized his own and he then knew that England, who rarely showed any sign of emotional vulnerability, was crying.

"France…" he muttered between his sobs, "I'm scared."

The older nation swallowed a second knot that had lodged itself in his throat, but it stayed there and irritated him with a seeming emptiness. He wondered why he could not swallow something so nonexistent.

He withheld a hesitant gasp, "England…"

But words would not form. The usually romantic nation, the one that never had enough to spit out, was now mute. France stood in melancholy silence as England buried his face into the other's shoulder and attempted to hide the shame that followed him when he cried.

"I don't want to go!" wept England who had driven himself into a frenzy. "There's so much I haven't seen, so many things I haven't done, so many people I haven't said…" but he stopped.

France did not bother to coax an answer. He simply resigned himself to caressing the wheat colored hair of his companion.

"So many people I haven't said 'I love you' to…" England shuffled further into France's shoulder as he broke into cold sweat.

And France, who could not help but watch as his heart shattered in his own hands, pulled England into him and held him tightly, "M'Angleterre, you worry about all the others that you have feelings for, but you still forgot someone's feelings, someone so important, too! Now, I am going to have to tell that person myself. England, I love you…"

The momentary calm that had swept across the two of them was broken by England's sudden outpouring of tears. He flung his hands around France and gripped the senior tightly in his hands.

"I love you! I love you!" England screamed, though muffled by France's coat. "I never want to let you go. Never…never leave me, France!"

France bit his lip and closed his eyes which were now hot. He tried to but could not suppress his tears. One trickled down his cheek, but he bothered not to wipe it. Drawing England closer, France kissed the man's golden locks.

"Je t'aime, m'Angleterre. Et je ne te partirai jamais. I never have…"

France knew what to say now. Those affectionate words flowed back to him as easily as they used to when he was younger, frivolous, and fickle. England needed strength now and for the first time, France was going to be the solid foundation from which England could draw courage.

"I love you, I love you and I won't ever leave you. I never have," he repeated. "And know this, no matter what happens in the future, I will _always_ be walking beside you."

The younger nation's heart wrenching cries were the last sounds of the evening. No more words were spoken—no more needed to be said.

The two nations stood on a cliff overlooking Paris…

Yes. They knew that what was to come was a force of universal power and even though they were the protectors of their nations, they could not stop it. All they could do was prepare themselves for the weight of the billions of people's suffering and sadness that would inevitably fall on their shoulders.

Cradling each other, the two found their most tender comfort in their sworn enemy. The lover and his rival were deeply engrossed in a romance that had lasted centuries and surpassed all bounds of universal time; it would continue to transcend the ages, even past what was to come.

This is the story of the noble and the knight…


End file.
